


The Most Wonderful Time

by Ruby_Wednesday



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Romance, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8954050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruby_Wednesday/pseuds/Ruby_Wednesday
Summary: Damen has enough on his plate with being the new guy at Vere Enterprises without having the misfortune of getting mystery boss Laurent in the Secret Santa draw.  Damen is determined to get the perfect gift. Laurent, however, seems determined to make life difficult.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy almost Christmas, you guys! This is split into two parts. The next will posted tomorrow.

So, who’d you get?” Lazar asked, by the water dispenser (which was wrapped in tinsel.)

“It’s Secret Santa,” Damen replied. “Clue’s in the name, dude.” He’d actually been out of the office when the draw was done and his buddy Nik had chosen on his behalf. The slip was on his desk. Somewhere. But he hadn’t looked at it yet.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Lazar walked with him back to his cubicle. “Everyone tells. Everyone swaps. Jord here swapped for Aimeric.”

“Because he’s got a crush,” Damen supplied. It was that kind of office. It was fine to joke about crushes as long as you got involved. They were very team-orientated. Which was fine. Really. Damen just was normally more of a leader.

“I swapped for Huet, because I’ve got the best gag idea for him,” Lazar continued. 

“I’m not swapping,” Damen said. “It wouldn’t be fair play.”

“You didn’t even look, did you?” 

Great. Now Nikandros was joining the Let’s Bug Damen Party. He thought they were better friends than that.

“I’ve had a lot on,” Damen said, meekly. Not getting involved in this shit was a cardinal sin around here. He learned that the hard way when he was the only one not wear a costume on Halloween. This was the first time he had really gotten a job without his father’s connections or money to give him the leg up. It was important that he did well. He was doing well. Numbers were up. He met all his targets and most of the team responded well to his ideas. 

“It’s still buried under the weekly reports, Damen.”

“All right, Nikandros.” He might have mimicked him a little. Damen rooted out the slip of paper. Someone had drawn holly on the outside. 

“Festive,” he said.

“Erasmus takes this kinda thing very seriously,” said Jord.

Damen opened the piece of paper.

“Well?”

“I don’t who this is.”

“You’re still new,” Lazar said. “What does it say?” 

“Laurent.”

“Fuck,” said Lazar. 

Jord let out a long breath. 

“Wait. Who’s Laurent? I don’t know him.”

“All right, Mariah,” said Aimeric. “Whatever you say.”

“You haven’t seen Laurent, yet?” Nikandros said. “Actually, of course you haven’t. You would have told me if you had. He’s….”

“What’s going on?” Vannes sauntered over to their weird discussion.

“Damen got Laurent in Secret Santa.”

She cackled. “Good luck.”

“Guys, are you messing with me? I don’t think this is even a real person.”

“Dude, he’s the boss.”

“Auguste’s the boss.” Damen was sure of that. He was the one who had headhunted him away from Akielos Inc to Vere. 

“Laurent is his brother. His partner. The guy who’ll come in here and fire all our asses if we don’t meet deadline,” Lazar said.

“Last year, he laid three of the accounting team off the day after the Christmas party,” Jord said.

“Did one of them have him for Secret Santa?”

“Who knows? Never saw ‘em again,” Jord said. “What did he call Huet when he lost the tug o’ war at summer team building?”

“A sorry excuse for a man whose mother rued the day he was born,” Lazar supplied. “And, boy, when he fired Govart…”

Everyone winced.

“And that’s before you think about the hostile takeover,” Nikandros said. “The uncle used to run this company and Auguste and Laurent  
aggressively took it out from under his nose. Kinda like how they got you here, now that I think of it.”

Damen was still a little bit skeptical so he pulled up the company website. “He’s not here!”

“He’s private,” Jord said. “Look, though.” He took a framed picture (which was wrapped in tinsel) off the wall outside Auguste’s glass office.  
Annual Young Business People Awards Gala. “There he is.”

Damen knew immediately who Jord meant. Laurent, standing beside Auguste, lighter hair and fairer skin. Auguste was smiling, jovially, as he  
generally did. Laurent looked straight into the camera, piercing blue eyes and face that could make Damen do very very stupid things. 

“I know,” said Jord. “It’s like he’s staring into your soul.”

Damen composed himself and looked around at his co-workers. He put on his best smile and his leader’s voice. 

“So…” he said. “Anyone want to swap?”  
-

No-one wanted to swap. In fact, they skittered away like spooked horses at the mere suggestion of having to deal with this Laurent on any kind of personal basis. All day long, people kept coming up to Damen saying things like _hard luck, man_ and _heard the bad news, man_ and patting him on the back. It got so bad Damen wondered if there was more to their sympathy. Maybe he was on the chopping block. Maybe he was about to be assigned a really shitty task.

He just kept his head down and did his work. Frankly, he thought the reaction of his co-workers was ridiculous. How scary could some jumped up little brother really be? Laurent never came in to the office. He was probably some spoiled kid, riding on his brother’s coat-tails and this fear was all the product of him being over-indulged. 

Maybe it was different for Jord and them. There was no non-snobby way to put it but Damen could tell they had very different backgrounds. He had gone to his mother’s family’s country house for Thanksgiving Weekend. Lazar had been really pleased with the Black Friday deal he got on a new leaf blower at Walmart. They worked hard and worked their way up but Damen had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

He knew Laurent’s type — spoiled and mean — and that did not scare him one iota. This ridiculous office game wasn’t going to best him.  
-

How do you buy a gift for someone you have never met? 

2016 answer : creep their social media once you go home so the IT people don’t see your activity.

It shouldn’t have been hard to find Laurent. Damen was friends with Auguste. It should have been simple. 

But considering Damen hadn’t even known Auguste had a brother until a few hours ago, he should have known better to think Laurent would be easy to find. There wasn’t a trace of any him on Facebook. Damen went deep into triple digits on Auguste’s Insta before he found a shot and it wasn’t tagged. 

“Not even fucking LinkedIn,” Damen said out loud.

Right.

New plan needed.

Good thing he was an excellent strategist. That’s why Auguste had hired him after all.

He started to ask around. Once he got past the condolences and schadenfreude from his co-workers, he tried to ask around. He got nothing in return. Laurent didn’t drink, so that ruled out the idea of just getting him a nice bottle of whiskey. Laurent only drank fancy artisan coffee so no Starbucks giftcard for him. He didn’t golf. His ties were ten times the price limit they’d set. Erasmus thought he’d seen him read a book once, but it might have just been the annual report.

“You’re wasting your time,” Nikandros said, once Damen returned to his desk. Such was the curse of modern working life that everyone but  
Auguste shared a large work space instead of individual offices or even cubicles. “He clearly doesn’t want anyone to know him.”

Damen looked over the top of his (tinsel-covered) monitor. “You at least knew he existed and didn’t tell me.”

“Can you blame me?” 

“He’s the boss.”

“If you hadn’t come to work here you’d be the boss at Akielos.”

“If you hadn’t come with me you’d be the … vice-boss.” A good package for Nikandros had been one of Damen’s stipulations before he signed the contract. “I’m not stupid, Nik. I want to do well here.”

“Then buy him a generic gift card and focus on your work.”

“That’s so lazy. I’m getting a good gift. You know I give good gifts.” Damen took pride in that kind of thing. “Technically, I’m still on probation here.”

Nikandros shook his head. “Incoming.”

Auguste was coming back from lunch or something. He wasn’t the kind of boss who’d scold his staff for chatting. He’d be more likely to join in. 

But Nikandros was old school.

“One person knows him,” Damen said and jumped out of his chair. “Auguste, have you got a minute?”

“Majority rules, Damen. I can’t intervene on the radio issue.”

“What radio issue?”

“You didn’t vote on whether to start playing Christmas FM in the office?”

“No.” Damen had been out of the office last week. So Secret Santa draw wasn’t the only thing he’d missed.

“Well, we’re going to be playing Christmas FM in the office from now until Christmas. Thank God for doors, huh?” Auguste ushered Damen through his office door. “Sit down. Oh, while I have you here I want to say excellent work on the Ravenel venture. The percentages are insane.”

“Thanks,” said Damen. “It’s a solid investment. Huge demand.”

“That’s why Laurent wanted it.”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Or, who rather. Your brother? Laurent?” Great. Damen was back to acting like he wasn’t sure the guy definitely existed.

“You haven’t met him? Has he even e-mailed?”

“No.”

Auguste shook his head. “Not one for socialising, my brother. But he’ll for sure be at the holiday party.” For a second Auguste looked worried. “You weren’t here for that vote either, were you? About whether to call it the Christmas party or not.”

“It looks democracy is just destined to pass me by,” Damen said. Auguste relaxed. “I also missed the Secret Santa draw.”

“Well you have to still get a present!”

“Nik drew on my behalf. And … I got your brother.”

“Oh.” Auguste’s expression blanked. One second, vibrancy and the next he might as well have been a mannequin. 

“I don’t know your brother. So I don’t know what to get him for a gift. Can you give me some pointers?”

“Damen, that’s against the rules.”

“Are you kidding me? Just tell me one little thing. Does he cook? Has he a pet? I want to get something nice.”

“Why?” Auguste was smiling again now.

“Because…” Damen was getting frustrated. He sometimes acted out when he got frustrated. So it was not a good idea to show your frustration in the workplace. “Because it’s Christmas!”

Auguste rested his chin on his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s against the rules. And I’ve got a conference call in five minutes that I need to prepare for.”

That was another shitty thing about having a boss. 

You could be dismissed.

-

 

Damen went to the gym most days after work except for the days he had training with his team for the local rugby league. Then he went to the gym in the morning. It was just as part of his routine as other people’s morning Starbucks run. A few days, and several hundred plays of All I Want for Christmas is You later, Damen had just finished up on the pitch panting and covered in mud when he realised he was missing his phone. He hadn’t seen it since work, which meant he left it in work. 

“Great,” he said to himself.

“What’s up?” Nik had the annoying habit of hearing things Damen only meant to say to himself. 

“Left my phone in the office.”

“Get it in the morning,” Nikandros said. “We’re all going to the Rose and Crown.”

Damen sometimes thought a lot of the guys only played with the team so they could go to the pub after.

“I better get it,” Damen said. “They’re giving my dad that award Saturday night and I’m expecting a call.”

“Surprised you’re still invited.”

“Appearances, etc etc. I’ll text if I’m going to the pub, ok?”

“Sure.”

Damen didn’t bother going to the locker rooms or else he’d have to explain his absence again to the rest of the team. Just because he was the captain, they acted like they needed him around all the time. Sometimes that was exhausting. He jumped straight in his car without showering or changing and pulled up outside the office building eleven minutes later. Gotta love the lack of traffic at night time. During office hours, the security people were notoriously strict about not parking in the drop off zone. The only person who got away with doing it was Auguste, and he was too egalitarian to do it. (And he had a spot right by the elevator with his name on it so it’s not like he was overcome with hardship.) Damen figured he could get away with it at night because he was literally only grabbing his phone. 

And there was already a car there. A sleek, black, very expensive Mercedes. Damen didn’t know it so he figured it belonged to someone on the other floors. There was a cloth business in the building that no-one was quite convinced was actually legit. It was meant to be owned by a dude named Charls but Damen had seen like four different guys claim to be Charls.

“I’m just grabbing my phone,” he told the night watchman, after showing his ID.

The guard looked past Damen with a worried expression. “Did you block him in?”

The other car.

“Of course not.” Damen would never be so rude. 

“Be quick,” the guard said.

“I said I was just getting my phone.”

All right maybe Damen didn’t like being told with to do. Without having a phone to look at, he had nothing to do in the elevator but twiddle his thumbs. And catch a glimpse of his filthy reflection. Thank God there was no-one else around to see him. Goodbye professionalism. He swiped into the dark office and went straight to his desk. His phone was where he’d left it, along with half a muffin from lunch which he promptly stuffed in his gob. He’d been training. Of course he was hungry.

It was at that precise moment, with a mouthful of stale muffin, Damen heard voices drifting out from Auguste’s office. 

Shit.

He was not here alone.

Neither was Auguste.

The office was quiet, without the rest of the staff and the everpresent Christmas songs, so Damen could make out the exact words being said.

“It’s going to be fine.” Auguste’s voice was comforting, not like anything he used in work. “He won’t touch this. I’m sure of it.”

“He’s cosying up to the brother.”

“It won’t make a difference, I promise. Laurent; are you listening?”

“There’s someone there.”

That was the moment the automatic blinds in Auguste’s office glided open. Damen was faced with his boss and his boss’s beautiful younger brother (who was essentially his other boss?) and it totally looked like he was eavesdropping.

Damen choked on the muffin.

“I forgot my phone,” he said, approaching the door. “I didn’t know there was anyone else here.”

“A likely story.”

“Laurent!” Auguste stepped out of the office. “Damen, sorry. He’s not house-trained yet.”

“Creeping around after hours. Right at this very moment. Come on, he’s…”

“I literally forgot my phone.” Damen held it up as evidence. “I’m really sorry to disturb you.” Being a glutton for punishment, he stuck out his hand towards Laurent. Who was regarding him with intensity icier than the Arctic circle. And did not take his hand. “Yeah. I’m filthy. Don’t blame you, to be honest. The rugby field’s basically a pool of mud right now.”

“I had thought you crawled directly out of swamp,” Laurent said.

“Nope. Not on a weeknight. I’m Damen, by the way.”

“I know who you are.”

Damen looked at Auguste for assistance. Auguste was looking at the exchange with the kind weariness that made Damen think he was used to  
his brother’s rude behaviour. No wonder everyone in the office was scared of this ice prince. Well, not Damen.

“Do you know how to be polite?” Damen asked.

“Absolutely. When it’s necessary to get me something I want.”

“Most people are polite because of common decency.”

“Nothing about me is common.”

“All right,” said Auguste. “Damen, see you in the morning. Laurent, let’s wrap this up before all the restaurants in town close and we’re stuck getting Domino’s again.”

“Nice to meet you, Laurent,” said Damen, pointedly.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he replied. “Which is good for us, I suppose. Watch where you walk on the way out. They’ve already polished the floors.”

-

At coffee break the next morning, Damen brought the subject back around to Secret Santa. It wasn’t hard. This company took Christmas seriously. There was already a list of rules sent out about the party and a rota for holiday candy.

“If you swap with me I’ll do your next three expense reports,” Damen said to Lazar.

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll ask the girl in the sandwich shop to go out with you,” he said to Huet.

“I’d rather be celibate for the rest of my life.”

“Erasmus, you’re an intern. I will pay you two hundred dollars to take Laurent as your Secret Santa.”

“Oh, no.” Erasmus went white as a sheet. “I could never violate the rules like that.”

“Nik?”

Nikandros laughed.

-  
Damen spent the rest of the week working on the Fortaine deal. Auguste made a point of telling him how much they wanted him on the project, which meant he was making up for his brother not wanting him on the project. In lots of ways, Damen didn’t blame him. If he had stayed working for what remained of his father’s company, he would have been mighty suspicious if either of the Vere brothers came sniffing around. 

They weren’t to know he could be trusted. Damen worked hard as a matter of principle but he worked even harder to prove himself on this deal. 

Between that, and the gala Saturday night, he only had minimal time to think about trifling things like what to get Laurent for Secret Santa. He was an adult. He knew when to take a step back and as hot as Laurent was, that didn’t mean Damen was going to obsess.

The weekends running up to Christmas were prime party season. Damen always got invited to lots of events, always had, and he pretended to be annoyed he had to sacrifice Atkis’s Annual Ugly Christmas Sweater Party for this Business Association dinner. Really, though Damen didn’t mind. 

He’d do anything to support his father. He wanted to make his brother proud. So that’s how he wound up in a tuxedo in a banquet hall surrounded by stuffy old men who still bitched about not being able to smoke cigars inside. And his date Kashel, who was likely to attack one of the old men who kept looking at her low cut top. 

Damen’s father was old-school and had always been popular in the business world. He’d retired almost a year ago, so the Association decided to honour him tonight at their annual gala. Of course Damen would attend. He’d clap and take pictures and he had expected to be asked to present the award but that honour had fallen to Kastor. It made sense, in a hurtful way. No matter how much Damen told himself he didn’t need to make a public speech to prove his worth to his father, he couldn’t quite believe it.

“How’s the new job going?” Heston, his father’s old friend, asked Damen. He was the first person to say it with politeness rather than scorn.

“Good. Lot’s of exciting projects on the horizon.”

“Like Fortaine?” Asked one of the other grey-haired clones.

“Maybe.”

“Is the younger brother really as bad as they say?” 

“Worse,” said Damen. “But he’s hands off, so it’s fine.” 

“I don’t know why you went there anyway. You had your pick of positions at Akielos.” 

And that was true. Damen could have worked in his father’s old company and it would have been easy. He could have worked hard and proven himself in a different way. But the Akielos his father had created no longer existed. It used to be owned by just him and now it had countless shareholders and holdings and subdivisions until it barely resembled the way it started. It was hugely successful and his father retired young and hella rich. Damen wanted something different.

“I like a challenge,” Damen replied, with a grin. And he kept it on his face while Kastor got on stage and spoke about legacy and success. While he wasn’t called in for photos until every possible combination with the current Akielos team was taken. “Good speech,” Damen said to Kastor, in front of the Business Association backdrop. 

“One of us has to make Dad proud.”

“Play nice,” Theomedes said, and they all three smiled for the camera. “Damen, you look well. I haven’t seen you in…”

“Six weeks,” Damen said. “Good to know retirement isn’t slowing you down.” He looked past the photographer, shocked to see a familiar blond head in the background. Laurent. As if this wasn’t hard enough. 

“Are you coming for Christmas?” 

“Not sure,” Damen said. “Listen, I wanted to pick your brain about this thing with…” His dad would know how to smooth things out with Laurent. He was both loved and feared by everyone he met. If anyone could crack that formula, it was him. 

“One of just the brothers?” The photographer called out.

“No. We don’t need that.” Kastor already stepped out of the shot. “We’ve got it.”

Damen was about to suggest one of just him and his dad, but then he was the only one still standing there. 

“Lunch at the club this week,” his father said. “We can talk then.”

“Sure.”

Damen wove through the crowd, heading back to his table and poor Kashel. It wasn’t a romantic thing with them but he still didn’t want to abandon her for too long. He was stopped, here and there, by old friends and acquaintances and he tried to be friendly but it felt like every conversation went back to the fact he had taken this new job with Auguste. He was sick defending himself, pretending to laugh when nothing was funny. It wouldn’t have been like this if he stayed with Ios.

He might have been looking for distraction when he heard a cut glass voice cut through a small crowd of older men. Laurent, the picture of youth and achievement, was holding court among a scene of excess, wealth and lazy living. And he was systematically cutting through each of them with his blade of a tongue.

“I haven’t seen you at the tennis courts lately, Guion. It’s showing there around your middle. Where’s your wife tonight, Mathe. Seeing her personal trainer again for a private session? That must add up.”

At least Damen wasn’t the only person, Laurent took it upon himself to dislike. He was probably being more truthful than everyone playing nice and judging as soon as your back was turned. 

“Oh, you poor soul,” Laurent said. “I didn’t realise business was so bad, Audin. If I can put any business your way…”

“I assure you business is fine.” Audin was going red. “I’d be happy to contribute.”

“I’ll double it,” said another man. “I’ll write a check for twenty grand right now.”

“Only if you're sure.” Laurent sounded so sincere Damen could have laughed. He drifted closer, curious. “And what of you, Guymar. Can you manage anything this year?”

“Of course I can.”

“That’s very kind. I did hear about your new car. It’s a beauty.”

“Thank you,” said Guymar. “Oh, I think my wife is calling me.” That was the excuse for all the men to escape Laurent’s clutches.

“Well,” said Laurent. “I suppose Auguste was right about you not being a corporate spy. You have the subtlety of a Great Dane.”

“I wasn’t trying to be subtle,” Damen replied. “Nor were you. I’m sure I would hear no more nor no less than you wanted.” Laurent pressed his lips into a thin line. Damen took the opportunity to continue. He didn’t need Laurent to like him. He just needed him to respect him. And he thought that a man like Laurent would respect directness more than pandering. “I am surprised however to see you here. I didn’t think it was your scene.”

“It is not. You are right about that. I was surprised not to see you on stage with your father. Are you shunned for turning to the dark side?”

“We’re not nearly so prejudiced in my family,” Damen said. “Are you going to approach him for investment next? He won’t take it kindly.”

“I’m not approaching anyone here for investment,” Laurent snapped. Damen was proud to have rattled him. “I’d never let a dirty cent of their money touch my business. It was a philanthropic endeavor. Since I spend so little time in the office these days, I have to fill my time someday. Those men just donated decently to my favourite cause.”

“You bullied them into it.”

Laurent shrugged. “Trust me when I say I do not feel bad about it.” 

“I do,” said Damen. “So…what’s the cause?”

“None of your business.”

“You don’t have to hate me,” Damen said, and his voice came out raw. Maybe he was feeling the strangeness of the evening more deeply than he admitted. He thought of his father, laughing somewhere with other people. “I’m a good worker. I’m not going to do anything to hurt your company. Anything that happened in the past had nothing to do with me.”

“Oh, spare me,” said Laurent. “I don’t care what you do. We’ve spoken enough for now someone who works for me. People have seen the social convention and you can go back to your lovely date. Makedon over there has promised a sizable donation if I play some drinking game with him. I normally hate alcohol but that’s more interesting right now.”

Laurent walked away.

Damen went back to his seat, and Kashel who was more interested in finding an eligible man here than Damen’s woes. He looked at his phone and it was full of notifications from the party he was missing to attend this shitshow. His friends looked like they were having fun.

Damen was not having fun. He could see his father and Kastor schmoozing across the room. He was half-listening to a boring conversation about the last time Heston flew commercial. A roar of laughter went up from nearby — one of Makedon’s infamous drinking games that Damen normally would have at least observed except Laurent was there being adored. The band was getting set up. Naturally with a crowd like this it was going to be all Rat Pack stuff. Men like these had heroes like that. Damen thought a bit of Wham was more fun at Christmas not these old numbers that would oblige him dance with old widows. He stayed only as long as was polite and left without saying goodbye to his father. 

Kashel was occupied with a handsome lawyer, so Damen went outside alone. He sat on a bench in the cold night air, regretting so many things. There were footsteps behind him then, and he steeled himself to be friendly to whoever else was leaving too.

“Oh. It’s you,” said Laurent. 

At least Damen didn’t need to be nice now. He was planning on not saying anything when a hand came down on the back of the garden bench. Damen knew someone holding themselves up when he saw one. Laurent was drunk. His blue eyes were unfocused, his cheeks were pink. He held himself with the usual insouciant poise but alcohol had made it even more languid.

“Did you make a fool of yourself?” Damen asked, finding shamefully he liked that idea. “I don’t know if I could keep up with Makedon.”

“No,” said Laurent. “I won. I don’t enter games unless I think I have a high chance of winning. That’s why I’m so successful. You should try it, really. You seem to enter races where you’re guaranteed to lose.”

“Name one,” Damen said.

Laurent’s glassy gaze fixed on him. “Soon,” he said. 

Damen picked up his phone to order a cab, but only got as far as unlocking the screen. “Is this what you do for fun?” he asked. “Scalp drunk men at a holiday party?”

“You say that like I’m a grifter. In another life, maybe. I’ll have you know I’m leaving here tonight with sizable donations for a very worthy cause. Those pathetic men will have deductibles for tax season and guilt assuaged as the Christmas excess kicks in. And we’ll all continue playing nice.”

“You play nice?”

“Not often.”

“Whatever.” Drunk Laurent was just as capable of confusing conversations as Sober Laurent.

“Where’s your date?”

“At least I had someone to bring,” Damen said. 

Laurent was still gripping the back of the bench. “Yet, we’re both going home alone.”

“You’re leaving now?”

“I’m not going back in like this.” 

Through the courtyard and several sets of doors, Christmas music still drifted out. Andy Williams now. Of course. 

“I hate this song,” Damen said. “Don’t you feel like it’s mocking you?”

“We’re not having a conversation.”

“I think we are,” Damen replied. “I think you agree. You’re definitely a Grinch. You agree.”

“Excuse me, I am not a Grinch.”

“Scrooge, then.”

“I thought you liked Christmas. I saw the e-mails you sent about the party.”

“You saw my emails.”

“Auguste forwards anything I might find interested,” Laurent said. “We have different definitions of what I might find interesting.”

“The Most Wonderful Time of the Year,” Damen said. At this moment, it felt the opposite. “How are you getting home?”

“I’m —”

“We could share a cab. I’m going to call one.”

“I drove here.”

“You’re not driving home,” Damen said.

“You’re not presuming to tell me what to do,” Laurent said. He dropped keys onto Damen’s lap. “All right. You’re my employee. You can drive me.”

“You can save me cab fare.” 

Once Laurent started walking, it was obvious just how drunk he was. Gone was the clipped gait, the constant authority. He was swaying and loping over the gravel path. If he really didn’t drink much, it was hardly surprising whatever he’d played with Makedon had this effect on him. It was strange to Damen that Laurent would do that just for some charity thing. Everything about Laurent was strange to Damen.

“Drinking lowers your inhibitions,” Laurent announced, seriously.

“Is this a PSA?”

“I would never allow you to drive me anywhere if I was sober.”

“I’m helping you, not taking advantage,” Damen said. “And don’t worry, I’m not going to try steal all your top secret company information while you’re inebriated.”

“Good.”

“If I wanted to, I’d do it right under your nose.”

Laurent faltered at the car door. “Just drive,” he said.

“Directions?” Damen pushed the driver’s seat back to accommodate him

“To get out of the hotel grounds?” Laurent scoffed. Then it took him four attempts to fasten his seatbelt. “Set the GPS to home.”

Damen started the car. It was a very nice car. He was maybe a little bit jealous, even though he wasn’t much of a car person. He had fun messing with the controls, and had more fun when he realised it would probably annoy Laurent to have his heat and seats and radio messed with. Laurent was slouched in the passenger’s seat with his head lolled back against the leather. He’d loosened his bowtie and his hair was falling over his face. It was a good look for him. It was dangerous for Damen.

“Watch the road,” Laurent said.

“Just making sure you don’t pass out.”

“Sure. If you looked at your date like that you might not be leaving alone.” The words were slightly slurred. “In fact, if …”

“Do you want to go to McDonalds?”

“What?”

“There’s a drive-through up here. Do you want a milkshake?”

“No.” Laurent squinted in his direction. “I want chicken nuggets.”

Damen hit the turn signal. “Chicken nuggets are disgusting.”

“I know. That’s why I’m getting them while I’m drunk. Sober, I would never do it. And I’m already going to hate myself tomorrow —”

“Why would you hate yourself?”

“That’s part of being hungover.” 

Not for Damen. He ordered the food and Laurent spoke over him into the speaker. So he paid for the food with Laurent’s money. 

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” Laurent said, once the were back on the main road. Headlights whipped by, illuminating his face and he looked even more ethereal. 

“The McNuggets. Or the Sundae?”

“Driving me home. I’ve worked hard to cultivate a certain…reputation. If you attempt to destroy it, I’ll destroy you.”

“If you attempt to destroy me, I’ll sue your ass for workplace harassment and unfair treatment,” Damen said. “But don’t worry. I can keep a  
secret.” Especially as Laurent had demonstrated he equated being drunk with being vulnerable. Damen wasn’t going to take advantage of that. 

“What’s your favourite kind of music?” He wasn’t above using this as a chance to up his Secret Santa game. 

“The good kind. I have excellent taste.” Said while scoffing McDonalds.

“Do you play any sport?”

“I fence.” Of course he did. “It’s good if you want to know how to stab people.”

“Do you like movies?”

“No wonder your date abandoned you,” Laurent muttered. “Turn left here.”

“I can read GPS,” Damen replied. “You’re very fixated on my date.”

“Not really,” Laurent said. “I’m just too drunk to pick anything but low hanging fruit.” Damen stopped asking questions. He drove the rest of the way in silence, taking sips of his vanilla milkshake every time he felt the urge to start a conversation. Eartha Kitt played softly on the car radio. 

They had nearly reached Laurent’s home when he felt him looking at him again.

“What?”

“Is your father terribly disappointed in you?” Laurent asked. “Or did he always expect you to fuck up? I can’t tell if it’s an act of rebellion or a cry for attention that had you worm your way into our company.”

Damen blinked. He took a long drink of his shake. 

“Can’t it be that I just wanted to do something on my own?”

“Pull in here,” Laurent said. 

“Are you going to be sick?”

“I’m home. You’ll have to get a cab from here,” Laurent said. “I’m not giving you my car.”

“You’re welcome,” Damen said, and closed the door with more force than necessary. He watched from the kerb until he saw Laurent was safely indoors and took off walking down the street. On the plus side, Nik and their other friends had moved the ugly sweater party to a nearby bar. 

Damen was wearing a tux. He was a fucking sensation when he showed up. He didn’t go home alone.

-  
Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree was playing for the fourth time that day and it was only ten o’ clock coffee break. Damen was listening to tales of various holiday parties and pretending to be demure when Nikandros told them about how he showed up at their goofy night out like he’d come from the Oscars. 

“You’re meant to be fancy around the holidays,” Damen said, seriously. They believed him. He’d be the toast of the breakroom if he told them about driving Laurent home but he refrained. He wanted to do well here. He didn’t want to show anyone that Laurent had gotten under his skin. 

Until conversation made it’s way back around to the work party and what it might entail.

“He chewed me out so bad when I lost at paintball last summer,” Lazar said, nearly fondly. “I was nearly crying.”

“You were totally crying,” Jord added. “At least it’s in the office this year and no-one else will witness any humiliation.”

“I still don’t know what to get him,” Damen admitted. “I have no idea if he likes anything.”

“Ancel that used to do sales got him a gag gift last year,” Orlant offered. “Handcuffs and … I didn’t actually see what else was in the box.”

“How did that go down?” 

“Ancel doesn’t work here anymore, does he?” 

“I was thinking…maybe a gift certificate for a massage,” Damen said. 

“Don’t think that,” said Nik. “It’s implying he’s tense.”

“He is tense.”

“But it’s not your place to say it. Remember you’re just an employee here, Damen.”

“Cigar?”

“Cancer stick,” sad Lazar.

“Cologne?”

“Far too intimate.”

“A book token?”

“Dude, he’s not your Great Aunt Doris. Try harder,” Lazar said. 

-

Damen’s car was getting work done so he drove Nik’s truck to his first meeting with the Fortaine people. He immediately disliked the man he met, Guion, and was more than a little surprised that Jord’s crush Aimeric was this guy’s son. Either Auguste was very irresponsible in his hiring practice, or something was up. How come he was the one being treated with suspicion when everything about the Fortaine deal was up in the air? Akielos wasn’t an immediate competitor of the current iteration of the Vere brother’s company. Back in the day, perhaps it was different, but both had evolved a lot since then. 

Damen’s impression of Guion was that he was a snake and any dealing Auguste had with him would be fraught with lies and unethical decisions. 

The whole reason he was determined to do well in this job was because he was so impressed with the responsible, innovative way Auguste did business. It was so different to the aggressive approach he had known in his father’s company. So he was as polite and charming and professional as need be during the meeting, but he left with a bad taste in his mouth. It was a big deal that he’d even been given the project though and he didn’t let his personal opinion detract from his work.

Auguste called him as he was driving home. Damen pulled in to the side of pretty run down street to answer. He didn’t have Bluetooth set up in this car.

“How did it go?” Auguste asked. Damen relayed the technical details. “You’re holding something back,” Auguste said, then.

“Honestly, I didn’t like him. Something was…off about the man. And it’s very strange that the son is working for you now.”

“Like you can talk.” Auguste sounded amused. “Anyway, it’s just a junior role. The kid is mostly chained the copy machine.”

“The numbers are solid. We all know that,” Damen said. “But I don’t think he can be trusted.”

“That’s what Laurent said.”

“If I was in charge, I’d take all or nothing. I couldn’t work with him.”

“But you’re not in charge,” Auguste said, and his voice was still light. “And taking all would require a much bigger risk for us. But I’ll take it under  
advisement.”

“All right. See you after lunch.”

Damen was about to pull back into traffic when he caught sight, again, of a familiar blond head. 

Again.

How had he gone from not knowing Laurent existed a week ago to him showing up everywhere he went?

This was not the kind of neighbourhood Damen expected Laurent to be. There was nothing here but shabby houses, an old church with a sign outside that read St. Acquitart’s and a biggish building that could have been anything. He saw this as an opportunity. In Damen’s experience, there was only one thing that brought someone as well off as Laurent to an area like that. It was the very same reason a successful young man might take a break from working for his family business. He could be buying drugs. He could be going to a meeting. 

Damen was curious.

And if it was all innocent, Damen might get an insight into Laurent’s life and figure out what to get him for damn Secret Santa.

He couldn’t see much from here so quietly as possible, Damen started the car. He eased it down the road towards where Laurent was standing.Thank you Nikandros for springing for tinted windows. Laurent was looking into the gate of the big old building with a look of impatience on his face. Then, he extended his hand and a little boy with a mop of brown curls ran out and took it. He was followed by a few more kids of various ages, who he herded into a line across the street to the church. Laurent was looking at them with focused attention and a warm look on his face. 

It was…different. 

Damen craned his neck and hoped he just looked like a considerate driver who stopped to let the kids cross the road. 

The alternative were…not good.

Of all the things he expected, Laurent playing babysitter to a motley crew of children was not anywhere on his radar.

Damen tried to subtly bring it up the next time they were on break a work.

“Did he have legal troubles maybe?” he asked.

“Everything they do here is above board,” Jord said. Damen knew that. He wouldn’t be working here otherwise. 

“Personal legal troubles.” Maybe the kind that would require community service. Or extended time off. 

“No,” said Orlant. “I deal with all the legal stuff. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he killed someone someday.”

“You’re asking a lot of questions,” Nik said, when everyone else was gone. “You don’t…”

“No!” Damen’s cheeks were getting hot. “He’s awful to me.”

“How many times have you met him?”

“Zero times.”

“For fuck’s sake, Damen. I left my job to work here with you.”

“I just want to get a good present is all,” Damen replied.

“Think about why that is and keep out of his damn way,” Nikandros said. “I know you. This will only end in tears.”  
-


	2. Chapter 2

Damen was possibly one of the few people who, in the year 2016, did not prefer internet shopping to shopping in real life. He liked the indetikit familiarity of shopping malls and big box stores; the smell of Starbucks and Lush and hearing Feliz Navidad and Do They Know It’s Christmas on a loop. He liked getting advice from salespeople and giving commission and supporting local businesses. There were always carolers and charity collectors and free samples of peppermint bark. There was atmosphere, the kind that reminded you that if you weren’t dealing with family or weird work stuff that Christmas could be fun. 

He had a lot of people to buy for. He had a lot of friends and a weird blended family. It was like leaving a big tip in a restaurant. It made him feel good to buy nice things. Family was easy. Leather gloves for Kastor. Golf clubs for his father. (He arranged for them to be delivered.) Creme de la Mer for Kastor’s mother. He bought a snapback for Nik because they had a running joke going and a bracelet for Kashel and then a similar bracelet for Ianessa from the bar last week. Candles for his nice neighbour lady. Candies for the office. Good Scotch for Auguste. 

Nothing for Laurent.

He just didn’t know. 

He spent ages in the bookstore looking at coffee table books and fancy looking books and best-selling books and bought an Moleskine and an OK pen just in case. But he wanted something better for Secret Santa.

Maybe if he gave Auguste (who had no qualms about drinking) the Scotch early, he might be able worm something out him.

The last stop was the toy store. Kastor’s mother had heaps of nieces and nephews and Damen was damned if he was going to treat them differently than any blood relatives. And a bunch of his friends were having babies lately and a several of them had asked him to be a godparent. He wasn’t even religious but he’d take the honour of being potentially responsible for an innocent child very seriously. Once the kids were past the screaming and pooping at all times stage, he would totally be more involved. So, yeah, lots of gifts to buy at the toy store. He didn’t know trends or what was suitable for different age groups so he went traditional. Lego. Wooden blocks. Building things was good. In line for the register, Damen noticed a white marquee thing set up just outside the front door. Some kind of charity drive. It made perfect sense to place it there, he thought. Lots of footfall, people spending excessively combined with holiday spirit would for sure make for a successful appeal.

He’d be lying if he didn’t notice the way the checkout guy was smiling at him. He was cute, all freckles and blue eyes and golden hair peeking out from under an elf hat. He blushed when Damen caught his eye. 

“I’ve got lots of nieces, nephews and god-kids,” he explained, as he rang through the toys. Maybe he wanted him to know he wasn’t buying them for kids of his own. It was a signal for single, or not straight, depending on how you looked at it.

“Lucky kids,” the guy replied.

“And not a Barbie in sight,” said the girl on the other till. 

“Not on my watch,” said Damen. He thought that was what they wanted to hear. He’d never really given much thought to gendered toys. The lego and art stuff was chosen because it was unisex. Maybe he didn’t quite remember the ratio of nieces to nephews on Kastor’s mother’s side. “So, what are they collecting for out there?” This felt like a good time to make a donation. It was probably like the thing at the grocery store where you could buy items for the food bank. He never knew then if he should go basic or get duplicates of his items, so he just bought toiletries.

The two cashiers exchanged a look. “It’s a toy drive for a local children’s home.”

“You don’t sound very thrilled about that,” Damen said.

“The guy who runs it is kind of…particular,” said the guy. “But they’ve gotten lots of donations. You didn’t see it on your way in?”

“I came in through the side. So can I donate at the till….?”

“Nope. You have to go through the charity guy and come back,” he said. “What’s his name again?”

“Laurent.”

Damen was tempted to exit through the side door where he had come in. But, well, he was also curious. So he picked up his bags and pushed through the crowd to see the charity tent. **Donate a toy to St.Acquitart’s Children’s Home,** said the sign outside. It was a nice sign. Damen was pretty sure it was the work of Erasmus, right down to the holly on the corners. So Laurent was not above using company resources for his pet project. This close to Christmas, the space around every toy store was thronged so Damen was relatively obscured by the crowd while he watched Laurent in action. Again.

He employed the same galling arrogance to getting donations from the shoppers as he had getting cheques at the gala. He insisted that any willing donors consult his list first if his haughty words weren’t enough to get them to dig into their pockets, a few scrolling looks from their overflowing shopping bags and back to the sign was enough to get them moving. 

“No, I won’t accept store brand. It has to be Crayola. You’re in a rush? These kids have nowhere to go! Would little Aidan be satisfied with a cheaply made plastic plane come Christmas morning? No. Get thee to the Disney aisle. Oh, you’re tired? Some of these children used to sleep on the street.”

Laurent was manning the booth alone, and had accumulated quite a pile of presents behind him, when Damen saw his chance to approach.

“Oh.” Laurent let out a sigh. “You know, I’m considering a restraining order. I’ve got the best cops and most expensive lawyers in town at my disposal.” He stopped to glare at a woman through the store window. She put down the mini tea set in her hands and picked up the full-sized deluxe version.

“I’m literally just out here doing my Christmas shopping,” Damen said. He was seeing Laurent in a whole new light, with this charitable side to him. It made him willing to look past the shows of disdain. “You know, I was waiting for a thank you for driving you home last week. I’m sure you have access to my details if you wanted to get in touch.”

“You’ll be waiting a long time if you want me to thank you for anything.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me what I can donate?” 

“You —”

“I didn’t come over here just to annoy you,” Damen said. “Or should I just give cash and you —”

“No cash,” Laurent said. “Any cash has to go to more pressing priorities for the home, like fixing the roof and paying for a full time counselor. I need physical donations only.” Damen looked at the spreadsheet held in place by a clipboard. Some items had been crossed out but there were still lots unclaimed. If he had to guess, he’s say it had been compiled from santa letters from various kids. Kids who probably wouldn’t get what they wanted or needed so looked for Captain Americas and Elsa dolls instead. 

Damen looked at his watch. He had tentative plans to meet the girl from the bar last week in a different bar for drinks. 

It was Christmas and Laurent was doing a good thing. Damen wanted to help.

“I’m going to put these bags in the car,” he said. “Then I’m going to come back here with two coffees and I’m going to help you. This might surprise you, but I’m pretty good at getting people to do what I say.”

He expected protests or insults but evidently Laurent’s need to help these children won out. He nodded once, tersely, and turned his attention to  
a shopper. She was carrying a Prada bag, so Damen didn’t blame him.

“Three coffees,” Laurent called after him. “Sr. Halvik’s in the van.”

-  
Damen got two plain coffees and a Gingerbread Latte for himself. Back at the tent, Laurent helped himself to the latte and took one of the plain coffees over to a battered minibus, along with one of his shopping victims. Damen gathered once a donation was made, the donor could get a receipt from the nun. Everyone liked tax deductibles and the reassurance the charity was legit. 

“I didn’t think you’d drink that,” Damen said about the coffee. “I thought you only liked high end stuff.”

“I’ve been here for four hours. My feet are like blocks of ice. I need sugar and I need caffeine and I don’t need to explain myself to you,” Laurent  
said. “But I am curious to know why you think you know so much about me.”

“Someone in work said something.” Damen was embarrassed that Laurent might know he was asking about him.

“Illuminating. I’m sure they say a lot of things.”

“Is this where you tell me they’re not true?”

“It’s where I tell you they are true and they are probably a cautious retelling,” Laurent said. “Come on. Standing here won’t get toys for the kids. I did ask the sisters if I could bring Nicaise to help. They said it was exploitative and I was inclined to agree.”

“Who’s Nicaise?”

Laurent showed him a picture on his phone of himself and the curly-haired, pretty kid Damen had seen him with on the street. There was fondness in his expression that Damen never imagined Laurent would show. 

“A face like that would guilt anyone into handing over money,” Laurent said. “And he’s scrappy, too.”

“Don’t these kids think they stuff is coming from Santa?”

“I don’t they they much believe in magic.”

Damen got to work. He was friendly, when it felt right, and he was big enough to block people from walking, when that felt right too. Laurent was good at being haughty and occasionally eliciting sympathy for these poor, underprivileged kids. Damen was good at charming moms and talking to bros. Snobbery was real, even in charity, and Damen knew he’d have to pal up to guys his age if they wanted to get anyone to buy the sports stuff on the list. Together, they were checking a lot of things off the spreadsheet and the tent was filling up fast.

“How are we on gift vouchers?” Damen asked Laurent, when one lady said she’d get one.

“Delighted to receive them,” Laurent said. He dropped his voice for Damen. “Some of the older kids want a PS4. People would balk if it was on the  
list. Apparently poor people can only want certain things.”

“Why do you do this?” Damen asked, seriously.

“It’s not court-mandated,” Laurent replied. “Nor is it the activity of a bored housewife-esque guy with too much money and/or time.”

“I know you’re not married.”

“I want to help. Is that so hard to believe?” Laurent blew on his hands for warmth. 

“You don’t have to be out here hustling for donations yourself,” Damen said. “You could get volunteers. My rugby team would do it. There are a bunch of sororities nearby that love this kind of thing.”

“You would know about sororities.”

“You could probably just buy the stuff yourself.”

“I do make monetary donations, let me clear about that,” Laurent said. “I’m paying for a part-time counselor and for Nicaise’s weekly horse therapy. Throwing money at a problem doesn’t make it go away. All our cash is tied up in the business. I’m probably not as rich as you think I am.”

“I wasn’t prying about —”

“Look at all these people rushing by,” Laurent said. “Spending cash like there’s no tomorrow. All caught up in themselves and their perfect little lives, or pretending that their sad little lives are perfect. They should know there are kids out there with nothing. They should help.” His face had taken on new ferocity. “When I first met Nicaise, he approached me in a public park and told me he knew a place where I could ‘get sex’. That child.” Laurent pointed at his phone. “Acted like it was the most normal thing in the world. And there are more like him, in different ways, and that’s not something we should ignore.”

“Of course,” Damen said. He felt small, all of a sudden, and slightly sick. There was a young woman passing with rolls of wrapping paper sticking out of her bag, and Damen was glad to have someone to approach. Later, the two cashiers came out with gifts they had bought from their mininum wage jobs. A little girl handed over a doll she had bought with her pocket money. Damen felt ashamed of the troubles he had dwelled on before.

Darkness was falling and it was time to pack up the donations into Sr. Halvik’s minibus. 

“You did good,” she said and Damen felt proud. “You are strong, yes? Dismantle the tent.”

“I still didn’t get anything,” he said to Laurent. “Show me the list.”

“It’s covered,” Laurent replied. They were taking apart the gazebo together. Surprisingly, they worked well together. Damen didn’t have to tell  
him what to do once. “Except …they still need a Christmas tree. And lights. And decorations.”

“I’ve got the truck parked up here,” Damen said. “Let’s go get some kids a tree.” 

“You drive a truck. Shocking.”

“No, Nikandros lent me his truck while my car is in the shop.”

“And what does he drive?”

“His bike,” said Damen. Maybe he enjoyed seeing Laurent climb into the truck. He saw him take in the pile of shopping, eyes lingering longest on the book store bag. Any minute now, he was going to make a comment on whether or not Damen ever read.

“That’s a very good way to get robbed,” Laurent said. 

“Thanks for the advice.” 

“Don’t you have anywhere better to be on a Saturday evening?”

“No.” Damen had already texted the girl from the bar to say he couldn’t meet up. “Listen, I was thinking. I could promote this charity drive on —”

“No.”

“Let me finish.” Damen pulled the truck into the line of traffic trying to get out of the shopping complex. 

“You were going to say Facebook. Or Instagram. Or whatever other superficial medium you use to show off your bomb ass breakfast or your killer ab routine.”

Damen couldn’t stop the slow turn of his head. “You looked me up!”

“Watch it. That car is trying to get out.”

“Oh my God.”

“Of course I did. Remember how I didn’t want my brother to hire you in the first place?” He said this without a hint of embarrassment. “I don’t know how it is with your … circle.” Said with a sniff. “But charity to me is private. And I refuse to use social media or take part in the futile charade of people liking and sharing and not even doing anything.”

“All right,” said Damen. “But if you need more hands on deck, let me tell Kastor’s mother. She’s got a whole network of charitable ladies at her disposal, and she knows how to use them.”

“I’ll bear it in mind,” Laurent said. 

“So…where are we getting a tree? There’s a yard outside of town. Not far from the club actually…”

“It has to be fake.”

“What?” Damen couldn’t keep the disappointment from his voice. “I love real trees. They’re…”

“A fire hazard, in an old building full of kids that’s not exactly the safest at the best of times. They’re also a poor investment.”

“Right. Let’s hit up a home and garden store so.”

“There’s one by McDonalds.”

“I think that’s a planning bylaw, to be honest.” Damen caught Laurent’s eye and grinned. “Do you want to stop for nuggets again?”

“Shut up.”

But Damen could tell Laurent was suppressing a smile.

“Are you looking forward to the office party?” Damen asked, while he fiddled with the radio until he found a decent Christmas song. The cheesier the better, as far as he was concerned. 

“Are you looking forward to your next dentist appointment?”

Traffic was going at a snail’s pace. Headlights bounced off the damp truck windows. It wasn’t raining, but it was the kind of damp, steamy, mild evening that made you long for snow instead of humidity. 

“My dentist is dope,” Damen said. “He still gives me stickers. And the nurses are hella cute.”

“Fascinating.” Laurent looked out the window. “So…your father’s wife,” he said. Not what Damen expected to here at all. “She’s one of those  
society ladies.”

“Yes.”

“Does she know Loyse, Guion’s wife?”

“Probably. We don’t really have that kind of relationship,” Damen said. What they had was distant but civil. She treated Kastor much the same, so it wasn’t particularly hurtful. “Speaking of Guion, I don’t like him.”

“You don’t have to like him,” Laurent said. “But we may have finally found something to agree on. I saw your notes to Auguste and all or nothing was my initial impression, too. Those country club women have weekly lunch meetings. Could you find out where?”

“Probably.” Damen changed lanes. “What’s changed since your initial impression?”

“I still think he’s a heinous old goat,” Laurent said. “But I want Fortaine. And I am willing to take it little pieces. Did you know Loyse owns fifty percent? So if we took half as Guion suggests, we’d be taking twenty five percent off each of them.”

“They’re married. I don’t see…”

“Loyse is decent enough,” Laurent said. “She adores her younger son Aimeric and is so pleased he got a chance to work away from his bully brothers and weak father.”

“I see.”

“She’s not happy in her marriage, either,” Laurent said. “We go ahead with Guion’s offer for now. Auguste will tell you on Monday. I’m telling you this now so you don’t attempt to change his mind.”

Damen sighed. “I don’t like this.” He would have stayed working with Kastor if this was the kind of business he wanted to take part in. “It’s…shady.”

“Spare me your ideas about honour and fair play. They don’t apply to men like him.”

It wasn’t Damen’s decision, or his business, or something he wanted to be thinking about on a Saturday evening so he let it go. Auguste was more reasonable and if he wouldn’t listen to Damen’s opinion, then Damen would request a different project. Even if the thought of taking Fortaine, something his father would never have dreamed of, was heady indeed.

“Well,” said Damen. “It would certainly be a good talking point of Christmas dinner with the family this year.”

Laurent’s mouth opened, surprised, almost amused. His eyes were bright in the darkness. 

He was very very attractive.

Honestly, it was becoming a bit of a problem for Damen so he made himself look the other way. At the side of the road, he saw a sign for real Christmas trees for sale. It felt like a figurative sign, too. 

“Look,” he said. “Will you at least consider…”

“No real trees,” Laurent said. “Get one for yourself if you want one that badly.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” He couldn’t say it wouldn’t feel right if it was just him. The smell of real trees was for sharing. Decorating was not something you want to do alone. And no one person should have to deal with the needles. 

“What’s your obsession with them anyway?”

“Dude, it’s perfectly normal to like real trees. They smell amazing. It’s like nostalgia or whatever. No need for the tone.”

“I wasn’t aware I was using a tone.” Fuck, he sounded genuine.

“We used to have one before my mom died,” Damen said. “My Dad would cut it down himself from the land near our country home. The smell of pine and snow and …I don’t know. It’s nice.” He was little more than a baby when his mom died. He didn’t remember a lot but he did remember the fresh, sharp scent and being fascinated by the lights. Then she was gone and Kastor’s mother was waiting in the wings and they always had a giant, artificial, professionally decorated tree after that. It wasn’t a patch of the domestic authenticity of something grown in your own ground.

“We used to go to the Bahamas for Christmas,” Laurent said. “Sorry. I can’t relate.”

-  
If you asked Damen a month ago, what he would be doing the Saturday before Christmas he sure as hell wouldn’t have guessed it would involve pushing a big red shopping cart around a fluorescent store with Laurent from work. Even now, he wasn’t ready to admit there was something … nice about the activity. There was tinny Christmas music on the tannoy and candy canes at the end of every aisle and Damen had never really looked very closely at Christmas accessories before but holy shit was there some cool stuff.

“Look, Laurent, this snowman sings.”

“Focus, please.”

“Oh my God, the Santa dances.”

“I’ll be in the Christmas tree aisle.” He commandeered the cart and left Damen to browse the neat but useless junk that seemed important in the week before Christmas. Once he saw the wrapping paper selection, he was hella regretting paying for gift wrapping at that charity kiosk. He restrained himself to a few choice items, like a singing reindeer that would drive Kastor’s mother up the wall and a frog in a santa hat that Nik would get a kick out of.

He was coming around the corner to find Laurent, who was leaning his elbows on the handle of the cart at the far end of the aisle. Damen stopped, wondering how someone could look so good under these lights, when Laurent took his feet of the ground and pushed himself forward balancing on the cart.

Here was the young man everyone at work was terrified of — spinning on a shopping trolley like an overgrown child. 

Laurent came to a stop about a foot from Damen’s feet.

“Don’t let me stop you,” Damen said, warmly.

“I was trying to crash into you,” Laurent replied. “Oh sweet Jesus, where did you find those ugly ornaments? No child under my sphere of influence will be exposed to something so…”

“They’re for me,” Damen interrupted. “Did you pick a tree?”

“That one.” Laurent pointed to a box on the upper shelves. Damen took a look at the specs and hauled it down. Laurent was watching with his lips pressed together. “Grab some lights,” he said. “I’ll get some baubles.”

“And tinsel.”

“No tinsel.”

“Tinsel is essential.”

“My eyes are already traumatised from what Erasmus did to the office.”

“You never even go to the office!” Damen grabbed several garlands of tinsel, without paying heed to colour.

“Because it’s so ugly with all that tinsel and Christmas music,” Laurent replied. “Oh, and you’re there.”

“Grinch,” Damen said.

“Shut up.”Laurent made a grab for the tinsel. Damen put it in the cart. 

“Scrooge.”

Laurent tried to remove it and Damen blocked him from getting anywhere near it. Firstly, he became aware that he was smiling. That this was somehow more enjoyable than scoring a try or hitting the bars with his friends. Secondly, he noticed that they were making a bit of a scene. Two girls were giggling and an older lady was looking at them like she was trying to work out their dynamic. Waste of time, lady. She was never gonna get it.

Laurent noticed the audience, too, and his expression shuttered. His body language changed completely. 

“It’s your money,” he said. “Get whatever you want.”

Damen got all the tinsel and tried not to feel rejected. Laurent didn’t have to like him. (Though Damen would have preferred if he did. He wasn’t  
used to people not liking him.) But there was no need for Laurent to be hostile all the time.

“I’ve never done anything to you,” Damen said, as they returned to the truck. 

“So?”

“I don’t get this flip-flopping. One minute you’re nice and the next you’re a complete…”

“Go on,” Laurent said. “Complete that sentence. To your employer.”

“I would like for us to get on,” Damen said.

“Or you think you’re entitled to my friendship because you’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted in life,” Laurent said. 

“That’s better than going around acting like it’s all right to be rude and cold and —”

“I can be whatever I way I want,” Laurent said. “And you can accept it or you can get annoyed but it won’t change a single thing. Are you done? I’m going to need help loading the truck.”

He didn’t say another word until it was time to give instructions to the home. Damen at least had the sense to act like he hadn’t been on this road before. 

“Is it all right for me help carry them in?”

“Do you plan to put the orphans to work?”

“Can you at least be civil while —”

“Yes,” said Laurent. “I can be.” He hopped down from the truck and scooped up two of the bags. The lightest ones, even though he clearly wasn’t weak at all. “This is important to me,” he continued, while Damen picked up some boxes. “Do you really think I would go in there bickering?”

“No,” Damen said. “And my question was just about whether it was all right for me to go inside. I know places have rules about that kind of thing.”

“It’s fine.” Laurent lifted his hand as if to knock on the door, but stopped. “Sister Halvik’s home isn’t a traditional foster or group set up,” he said. “A lot of the kids here are…the type who don’t fit in other places. They’ve had hard lives in hard places and seen and done things no kid should have to.” 

A chill went down Damen’s smile. The little boy he’d seen holding Laurent’s hand was so young. 

“Got it.”

“Some of them have parents who are in jail or hospital or mental health facilities or rehab or …they want to be good parents but things get in their way. Halvik gives them a safe place and the chance that they won’t get lost in the system. It’s not like my life or your life, Damen. It’s —”

Real.

“All right,” Damen said and that seemed to satisfy Laurent.

Sister Halvik let them in, nodding approvingly at their bounty before she went back to whatever it was she was doing. Despite the cold, her Birkenstocks slapped against the linoleum floor. The inside of the house was old but not shabby. Worn but not dirty. It could have been a retirement home or a rehab centre or anywhere people lived strangely together. But it was a children’s home and the arrival of Laurent sent the littlest of them flocking around his legs like eager pups. Did Laurent see their new artwork? Was Laurent staying for dinner? Did he want to hear them practise their parts in the nativitiy?

The older kids hung back but they looked at Laurent with the same wary respectful admiration Damen recognised from half the staff in the office.

“He’s a friend,” Laurent announced, in response to the suspicious looks Damen was receiving. “He works for my company actually. He helped with the toy drive and got the tree and decorations for the living room.”

“About time,” said one of the older boys. “Place is depressing enough.”

“I’ll help with the rest,” offered another.

“Absolutely not,” Laurent said. “No way are you getting anywhere near an unlocked car. You can clear a nice space by the window if you want to help.” 

Damen left them to it and went back for the rest of the stuff. He carried the tree box over his shoulder. He made sure everything in the truck was secure. The living room was just off the entrance hallway and it had the same tired look as the rest of the house. There was a collection of mismatched furniture that was old before Damen was born clustered around a television that was modern before these kids were born. The console they were after was never going to work on a TV like that. Damen stood at the doorway, watching Laurent give precise instructions for them to untangle the lights and source extension leads and dust the floors, and wondered why he ever complained about anything. 

“Are you a social worker?” The little boy with the blue eyes demanded off Damen.

“No. I work with Laurent.”

“Laurent works here.”

“No, Nicaise, I help here. I work with my brother. You know this.”

“Ah,” said Nicaise. “Brothers. Different dads or different moms?”

“I’m not his brother,” Damen said. “I just work there.”

“He looks like a cop.”

“Stop looking like a cop, Damen,” Laurent called. Damen slouched. It did nothing to get the kids to like him so he just carried the tree over to the allocated space. It took a few more minutes before they got into the swing of things. The little kids calmed down and the older kids stopped trying so hard to look cool and Damen didn’t really do much but the heavy lifting. But it was realer than any memory of any tree. Halvik came in with gingerbread cookies and switched the ancient tv from rap music to holiday songs. And then Damen was putting stuff on the highest branches and one of the older kids was asking him about his workout routine and he was offering to come back and show them some techniques. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Laurent hissed.

“I have every intention of keeping it.”

“Intentions don’t mean much.” Laurent spoke cuttingly, and his face was serene. “This isn’t just about making you feel good at Christmastime.”

“I —” Damen stopped himself. This was neither the time nor the place to argue. He was getting serious childhood flashbacks — his father and Kastor’s mother sniping at each other with smiles on their faces. He never wanted to be like that. He didn’t want to be one of those country club snobs who patted themselves on the back for doing the bare minimum for less fortunate people. He was just stopping by here. For these kids it was their life. “I need to get the truck back to Nik,” he said.

-

The next time Damen saw Laurent the office Christmas party was in full swing. For some reason he could not fathom, the party was taking place in the actual office. There were heaps of bars and restaurants within walking distance but Erasmus and his crack team of social club organisers had deemed the same artificially lit, grey-carpeted four walls they spend five days a week in was the happening spot for a festive shindig. Damen could have understood the decision if it was simply the kind of party where you drank a few sad glasses of wine and Subway sandwiches out of duty. Or even just a family thing with a shabby Santa and badly wrapped toys. But Vere’s Christmas work party was elegant and classy and atmospheric. The room had been transformed with fancy decorations and professional lighting. There was a dj and entertainers and a full cocktail bar staffed by some slick looking dudes with mad skills. There was a swanky Santa and a bunch of kids running around and that didn’t interfere with the people having a different kind of good time.

“Damn,” Damen said to himself when the elevator doors opened. This was not what he expected.

And he was late. Even though they had gotten off work early so the office could be transformed, Damen was late. It didn’t look good. Yes, the Fortaine deal was in ramping up. Yes, he had business to attend to with his rugby bros and he also had to buy Laurent a new Secret Santa present. But it didn’t look good that he was late.

Laurent, however, looked downright amazing. He was wearing slim trousers and a fitted shirt and tie that matched his eyes. Damen had changed out of his work clothes but he didn’t have the same _je ne sais quois_ about his appearance ever. He was J Crew and Ralph Lauren Polo. Laurent was McQueen and Saville Row. He was so gorgeous it hurt and Damen could feel him glaring before they even made eye contact.

He’d probably have to duck and cover under the desk ala the workplace safety video once Laurent found out what he had done.

Damen went straight to the bar and took full advantage of the complimentary cocktails. His drink was cherry red and strong as fuck. He complimented the bar tender and went to find someone he actually knew. Being the new guy sucked sometimes. It sucked worse when it made you realise how you were used to being known as the boss’s son or the guy in charge. Damen was just a worker here like everyone else. And there was a bunch of contractors and clients and suppliers here, so he was even more anonymous than usual. 

Oh, well. He wasn’t shy and he didn’t mind talking to strangers. It was just the presence of Laurent and the feeling of the blue eyes boring into the back of his skull that made him unusually awkward. Pushing through it, as was his nature, Damen drifted over to two of the IT guys and joined their conversation about some upcoming vacation. He had been to Hawaii several times so he could at least discuss surf spots with them. And he could talk skiing with Huet. He discussed Christmas songs (the DJ was currently playing Destiny’s Child’s Classic Eight Days of Christmas) with some wives and was suitably impressed with the magician. 

“Thank God,” Damen said, when Nik joined him with drinks for them both. “Where is everyone we know?”

“I was out doing your bidding,” Nikandros said.

“And I am grateful.”

“I’m not complaining,” Nik said. “It was worth it in so many ways. And I think the guys are hiding in the breakroom.” 

Damen headed that way but was intercepted by Laurent. 

“Damen.”

“Laurent.”

“Oh, man,” said Nikandros. “I guess I don’t need ice for my drink after all. It just dropped ten degrees on the spot where I stand.”

Laurent ignored him.

“I’ll follow you in,” Damen said. He wanted to talk to Laurent. He’d spent an embarrassing amount of time this week replaying the nicer points of their time spent together in his head — where it had been sweet and exciting and Laurent showed glimpses of the person he was beneath the armor. “Are you enjoying the party?” Damen asked Laurent.

“No.”

No-one said it would be easy.

The DJ had switched to that song by the Darkness. The one that wasn’t I Believe in a Thing Called Love. 

“He’s totally disregarding my playlist,” Laurent muttered to himself. 

“Is that why you’re not enjoying the party? I can request some Dean Martin if it makes you more comfortable.”

“Dean, Frank and Sammy could be up there in person and I would struggle to enjoy a party,” Laurent said. “I’m not very social.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.” Damen smiled. Inwardly, he was cursing that he didn’t know Laurent’s affinity for the Rat Pack earlier. He could have gotten something cool on vinyl for the Secret Santa present. “It’s nice for the kids to be here, though,” he said. 

“Nicaise isn’t speaking to me because he got wind of children attending and he wasn’t one of them.”

“Why —”

“I can’t show favoritism. So I should really stop telling him he’s my favourite. It wouldn’t be proper to bring him. For me or for the home,” Laurent said. “The tree turned out well though.”

“Good. Speaking of —”

“Damen!” Jord approached. “We’re all waiting on you for the Secret Santa exchange.”

Laurent turned, arching one brow. “Am I not invited, Jord?”

“No! I mean, yes. Of course you are, sir, just …”

“Would you stop tormenting him?” Damen whispered at Laurent.

“I’m trying to enjoy myself.”

It was time honoured tradition here that all the co-workers took themselves off from the main party in order to exchange Secret Santa presents. The all stood around the break room, just like they did at break time, except they had alcohol instead of mediocre coffee in their hands. Erasmus was taking his duty very seriously and passing out the gifts in order to keep up the charade of secrecy.

“Don’t you all discuss it in advance?” Laurent asked the room.

“No. Some of us believe in fair play.” Damen had not found out who got him. He never would have told had it not been pressured out of him.

“Hear, Hear,” said Auguste.

Laurent snorted. 

“Um, if we’re ready Huet is up first,” said Erasmus. No-one heard him.

“Hey! Are we doing this or not?” Damen called. “Huet is up first. Look alive, people. Erasmus, pass the man his gift.”

Auguste and Laurent both blinked at him. Right. Not the boss here.

Huet opened his gift which was a lady’s hat that made everyone else laugh. Some in joke from before Damen’s arrival. Jord got Aimeric some boxing gloves and it made them both blush a little (thought that could have been the free flowing wine.) Lazar recieved a swear jar. Auguste got a Best Boss mug and Aimeric got teased to hell for being a suck up.

“He is the best boss I’ve ever had!”

“You’ve only ever worked for your father before this,” said Laurent.

Nikandros got a coupon for a massage because apparently he was under a lot of stress all the time and deserved it.

“I don’t understand,” said Damen. “How is he stressed?”

Vannes and Lazar threw balled up wrapping paper at his head.

“This one is for you.” Erasmus, who was wearing an elf hat now, messed up his present-giving order just to keep Damen from getting more unwarranted abuse. 

The paper was blue and gold. Not particularly traditional but pretty in its own way. It was heavy, too, and Damen couldn’t guess what it was. Or who it was from. No-one was showing him any particular interest. Laurent was looking at his phone as Damen tore off the wrapping paper.

“Of course you tear off the wrapping paper,” Laurent said.

Maybe he was paying attention.

“Were you hoping to recycle it?” Damen didn’t look up from his gift. It was in a plain white box under the wrapping paper. His hands felt over-large as he lifted off the lid. Inside, nestled in sawdust, was a plain white candle in a glass jar. The scent hit him immediately but he raised to his nose anyway. It was pine trees and forests and sharp citrus and warm cinnamon. It was Christmas, when he was a child, and it made his throat get tight. This wasn’t anything you pick up at the mall. There was little card underneath explaining the custom scents written in precise calligraphy.

“Generic,” huffed Lazar. “Where’s the imagination?”

“I thought this was a scent free office,” said Aimeric.

“That doesn’t stop you all drowning yourselves in aftershave,” Auguste said.

Damen was looking at Laurent, who was steadfastly refusing to lift his eyes from his phone.

“So who’s your Secret Santa?” Huet asked. 

“I have some ideas,” said Vannes.

“Hello. It’s meant to be a secret,” Damen said. 

“If we narrow it down —” Jord began, and everyone’s heads swung towards Laurent.

“Yes?” Laurent said. How could one simple word change the mood of the room so much? 

“I think this one is for you.” Erasmus saved the day by pushing the gift towards him.

“Goodness. How could you tell?” Laurent peered pointedly at his name written on the tag.

“Is that necessary?” Damen asked. 

Erasmus flushed deeper.

Damen could tell everyone was still fixated on the fact Laurent had been his Secret Santa.

“Is this staring necessary?” Laurent countered. “I partake in this tradition in good spirits. I bought a perfectly adequate gift. A candle. Who do you gift candles to, Jord?”

“My Nana.”

“Auguste?”

“Open the damn gift, little brother.”

Laurent slid one elegant finger under the tape and carefully peeled away the wrapping paper. Damen knew what the gift was, naturally enough, so he focused on Laurent’s expression. Which gave nothing away. Everyone else was focused on the present. They mostly knew Damen was the giver. It was like sport to them, really. Damen had rethought the notebook thing and gone back to the bookstore where he’d found a very nice clothbound copy of A Christmas Carol. It looked nice. It was, to quote Laurent, perfectly acceptable as a gift.

And he had written inside the cover

_Happy Christmas Laurent!_  
I know you’re not a Scrooge.  
From your Secret Santa  
(Damen) 

Laurent was reading the inscription. Damen wasn’t able to breathe until he saw Laurent’s mouth briefly soften. 

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome.”  
And then it was Vannes turn and much scandal ensued but Damen was fixated on Laurent. That Andy Williams song was floating in from the dj booth and it felt different now. The tinsel caught the light and his co-workers laughing wasn’t even getting on his nerves. Laurent had remembered their conversation and tailored his gift especially. He hadn’t said anything disparaging about Damen’s gift.

This might be the most successful office secret santa ever.

Damen was gazing at Laurent but Laurent was only occasionally looking back. As Lazar opened his gift, Laurent was looking down at his phone and furrow appeared on his forehead.

“What’s wrong?” Auguste asked, before Damen could. Which was good. It wasn’t exactly Damen’s place.

“Nothing. It’s just Nicaise on Snapchat.”

“Why is that little boy on Snapchat?”

“All the kids are on Snapchat these days,” Damen said. “I had to start censoring my story when my eldest godchild added me.”

“What’s this about?” Laurent stared hard at Damen. “Why did you think you could —”

“All right.” Auguste stood and clapped his hands together. “That was the best exchange yet, team. I think it’s time for presents for the spouses now.” He dropped his voice as the guys filtered out of the breakroom. “Damen, can I see you in my office?”

Shit. That wasn’t good. You weren’t meant to talk to your boss alone at the Christmas party. But Damen still found Auguste’s wrath less intimidating than Laurent’s, so he hotfooted it across to Auguste’s office before anyone could stop him. He let himself in and waited. It felt too formal to sit on one of the chairs that faced Auguste’s desk and too presumptuous to sit on the sofa. He was two drinks in, so briefly considered sitting behind the desk before basically hovering around waiting. The blinds were closed. The music was muted. 

The door opened.

It was Laurent.

“Where’s Auguste?”

“Under the desk.”

“What?”

“He sent me here.”

“He sent me here,” said Laurent, clearly confused. “I mean, he asked to speak to me.” Saving face. He still had his phone in his hand. He knew now what Damen had done and meant to berate him for it. That was ridiculous. Damen was being nice. “But now that I have you here, can you explain what on earth you were doing at St.Acquitarts this evening?”

“If you ask nicely.”

“I will fire you, I swear to God.” Laurent had shut the door and stalked over to Damen. His eyes were brighter than any Christmas decoration. “If that was some attempt to worm you way closer to me or a way to —”

“Jesus. I wanted to do something nice at Christmas for some kids who need it.” Damen couldn’t hold back his annoyance. “I cleared it with Sr.Halvik and a few of us from the rugby team spruced up their rec room and —”

“You’re tagged in this picture of leather recliners!”

“Pallas was throwing them away.”

“This kid said you were dope as fuck,” Laurent quoted. “And he’s holding a PS4.”

“You said they wanted one! And the old tv wouldn’t work.” Damen had acquired a big SmartTv, a console, several controllers, some games, comfy chairs and a Netflix subscription for the kids at the house. “Look, it might be my privelege showing but it’s nearly 2017. Why shouldn’t those kids have a nice place to chill like anyone else in their class at school?”

“Why did you do it?”

Damen had run out of steam. “Why wouldn’t I do it?”

“I know what we pay you.” Laurent reverted to the snarky, challenging version of himself Damen first met. He hadn’t been like that when he was genuinely trying to work out what Damen had done at the home.

“You know I have my own money.” Damen looked right into Laurent’s eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t appreciate me asking you first or making a big thing of it. And if you keep digging you’ll see we didn’t publicise any of it.” Damen couldn’t look into Laurent’s eyes when he said, “You remembered about the real trees.”

“You waffled on about it for quite some time.” He had averted his gaze, too. “I like the book.”

“Good.” Damen’s voice was warm. His whole body felt warm. 

“You really didn’t have an ulterior motive with the kids? It was a very nice thing to do and in my experience, nice things aren’t done for no reason.”

“No,” said Damen. “The fact that it was nice is the reason.”

“Would you have done it if you didn’t … know me?”

“I’m still getting to know you,” Damen said. What was he meant to do — list off every other charitable endeavour he had done in his life? It would be a long list. Damen was naturally obliging and he always aware that he was in better position in life than most. “And I know you scrutinised my resume and stalked my social media. Charity is always part of my life.”

“Nicaise just said you might not be a total loser,” Laurent replied. “If he hears you call what you and the cauliflower ear gang did charity he’ll take it back.”

“All right.” Damen felt warm from the inside out now. He was only distantly aware of the party on the other side of the glass. His attention was all on Laurent — the bright eyes, cut-glass cheekbones and that lovely mouth. “I—” He felt shy in a way that was alien to him. Talking to Laurent was like flaying his own skin and leaving the exposed flesh for picking. He was weall aware that Laurent was capable of exploiting the vulnerabilities of people he did not respect. “I am glad you made me aware of the home,” Damen said. “Those kids need a leg up. I’ll do more.”

“Why?”

“It’s right.”

“Why?”

“I like you.” There. He said it. Damen always prided himself on being plain-speaking. It made him successful. It earned him respect. And he’d never been rejected yet. But saying the words to Laurent were different. It made him feel young, like he was chasing after his father and big brother or gazing at women he had no business admiring.

Laurent said. “I’m your boss.”

“Really?”

“My name is the on on the ownership documents.”

“The company. Not me.” Damen stepped closer. There was barely breathing space between them. Part of him was aware of how inappropriate it was to proposition his technical boss. The rest of him didn’t care. Laurent was gorgeous and exciting and deep down, he was so good. That was rare in a person. It was not something to let go of without a second thought. 

“Auguste…” Laurent trailed off. All Damen could think of was that Laurent did not back away. He did not berate him or reject him. His cheeks were pink and his eyes sparkled. 

“Have you ever felt like my boss? I didn’t even know who you were until this Secret Santa thing,” Damen said. “If I still worked for Akielos…”

“You don’t work for Akielos.”

“There’s no imbalance,” Damen said. Then, because it was 2016. “I won’t sue you.”

Laurent would not meet his gaze. His eyes were firmly fixed upwards. Damen instinctively followed him.

“Oh,” he said.

“Auguste told me to wait in his office,” Laurent said.

“Same.”

They were standing under a fresh green sprig of mistletoe.

“I’m your boss.”

“I don’t care.”

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Who cares? Everyone said working here was a bad idea. I bet people told you helping at the home was a bad idea,” Damen said. “It’s up to us what’s good and what’s bad.” He looked upwards again. “You’re not moving.”

“Neither are you.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

Laurent sucked in a breath, like he was about to come to a decision. Damen waited. He could be patient. He wanted Laurent to make the decision and he saw the moment when Laurent relaxed his shoulders and tilted his chin ever so slightly. Damen lowered his head just enough to properly be face to face with Laurent. His ability to speak was waning and he tried to communicate all he was feeling with just his eyes. Sure, he was attracted to Laurent on a physical level but it was more than that. He liked all he saw of him. He wanted to learn the rest of him, too, — that maze of a mind and that lean, surprisingly strong body.

“It’s Christmas,” Damen said, at the last minute, and then he pressed his lips to Laurent’s. It was soft, gentle; a possibility of something more. Damen thought the mistletoe and the season and the free cocktails would be reason enough to dismiss this as seasonal stupidity if it didn’t work out. But there was nothing stupid or temporary about the raw emotion that swelled when he felt the pressure of Laurent’s mouth on his. He left it up to Laurent. It could be a peck. It could be the thing that got him fired.

But Laurent did not pull away. His lips parted slightly, as if he wasn’t one hundred percent sure of what he was looking for, and then his hands were gripping Damen’s top and there weren’t any more doubts. He had pulled Damen into a real kiss, a passionate kiss, that had Damen opening his mouth and wrapping his arms around Laurent’s waist. Their bodies were pressed close. Their mouths were moving as if of their own accord — a sweet tangle of sensation, Laurent’s lips were so soft and his tongue so teasing and when he tugged at Damen’s bottom lip with his front teeth, Damen felt it in every part of his body.

“Laurent,” he said, and peppered kisses along that sharp, strong jawline.

“Even if it wasn’t Christmas,” Laurent said. “I —”

“I know.” This would happen if there was no mistletoe. It would happen if they didn’t work together. It felt like fate, and then Laurent pressed his hips against Damen’s and it felt like something else altogether. It wasn’t enough, like this, and Damen was considering the possibility of lifting Laurent onto the desk as he kissed him with full, open, messy kisses. Laurent took a step backwards, dragging Damen with him, and Damen found himself pressed against the desk. It was like being trapped in best possible way and hhe couldn’t think of anything but being closer, even as he heard a strange whirring sound. He dismissed it as the aircon or a phone until he felt Laurent stiffen (and not in the good way) in his arms.

“The blinds,” Laurent said. 

Fuck.

It took all of Damen’s strength to lift his head. 

The blinds had swept open and they had been too busy making out like horny teenagers to notice. Their heated kisses had been on full display for all the attendees of the office Christmas party. Erasmus was scarlet. Lazar looked proud, Jord shocked and Auguste had an expression Damen could not fathom. He had sent them in here. He had presumably known about the mistletoe. Nikandros drained his drink. Damen couldn’t even look at the partners, contractors and children who had unwittingly become witness to their little display.

“We’ve become the entertainment,” Damen whispered to Laurent, who was still frozen. “This is out Love Actually moment. Don’t abandon me now.”

Laurent pulled himself together enough to face the music (and his crowd of gaping employees.)

Damen didn’t know what to expect — perhaps a sheepish bow or for Laurent to point to the mistletoe. He definitely did not expect Laurent to grin wickedly out at the party as he deliberately pressed the button to close the blinds again.

“Laurent,” Damen said, impressed and scandalised. “They’re going to think…”

“That we are fucking in here? I know. How gauche.”

Damen lost the ability to think the moment Laurent said fucking. Sweet Baby Jesus, was that a possibility? He was so muddled, he hardly felt Laurent lead him by the tie over to the low leather couch in the corner. 

“Shall we….”

“Fuck?”

“I’m gonna come in my pants if you keep saying fuck.”

“Well, that’s not likely to get me into bed. I prefer stamina,” Laurent said.

“I’ve got stamina you can’t even imagine.” Damen’s voice was practically a growl.

Laurent blew a breath out through his lips. His pink, swollen lips.

“We’ll wait it out here until they find something else to talk about. Vannes owes me. She’ll do something,” Laurent said, confidently. “And you can explain why you called that a Love Actually moment.”

Damen tried to settle onto the couch. He could only get comfortable when he pulled Laurent against his chest.

“You know,” he said. “At the end when the Prime Minister gets caught kissing on stage at the school play.”

“In this analogy, I better be the Prime Minister,” Laurent said.

“I don’t know how I feel about being the chubby tea lady,” Damen said.

“Oh my God,” said Laurent. “She was a perfectly pretty and proportional woman. Nothing about her was chubby!”

“Are you a fan?”

“Not in the slightest.” Laurent sniffed.

“So if I invited you over for dinner this week and suggested a Christmas movie after….”

“I would tolerate Home Alone or White Christmas.”

“If Love Actually was the only DVD I owned,” Damen said.

“I would let you borrow my Netflix password,” Laurent replied. “But if you insisted, I would reserve the right to shamelessly poke fun at all the saccharine and ridiculous moments. And,” he continued, eyes averted again. “I might get emotional at Joni Mitchell moment.”

“Laurent.”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to come over to my house this week to eat dinner and watch Christmas movies?”

“Maybe.”

“Laurent.”

“Yes.” He flashed a smile. “I’m bringing something, though.”

“What’s that?”

“The mistletoe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas, Captive Prince fandom


End file.
